


Toward the Bush and Upturned Tree

by Fuzzy_Narwhal



Series: An Extended Mission (Anthology) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzy_Narwhal/pseuds/Fuzzy_Narwhal
Summary: She will not die. Not here. Not before she can throttle that di'kutla jetii for causing the circumstances she now finds herself fighting against.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Series: An Extended Mission (Anthology) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034565
Kudos: 14





	Toward the Bush and Upturned Tree

The broken skin flares, burning against the dirt and miasma of the viscous sludge. She grits her teeth so hard she is sure they will break, crumbling under the pressure. 

Struggling, she finds herself at a standstill, impeded by the quagmire as she realises she has made a terrible, awful mistake assuming this pool would mask her tracks, that her path through would be swift and useful. 

Panic sets in as she finds herself sinking further into the muddy slop with each movement. She reaches out for something, _anything_ to aid in her escape. Grasping within the thick stew, her fingers wrap around a lifeline. The vine is thin and the path to freedom it offers is precarious, but hope blossoms in her chest. She does not, cannot think of anything except the vine and the salvation it offers. Her mind shuts down all cognitive function, ignoring everything aside from one base, primal thought. Survival. She must keep moving forward. Within this moment only the vine exists.

She is guided through the cloying tar and ensures her exemption from a fate to which she almost succumbed. Feet hit the floorbed whilst hands clutch at the damp earth of the embankment. Relief is not forthcoming. She pushes onward, clambering out and up. Tendrils cling to her, still trying to pull her down into the dark depths below. Slowly, so slowly, she escapes their grasp.

Stumbling forth on shaky legs, she continues onward until she hears nothing except the gentle natural murmur of the dense brush. She collapses to the ground. Exhaustion, pain and adrenaline are playing havoc with her system and she can feel the bile creeping up the back of her throat, acrid and overpowering and it _burns_. 

She gasps for breath, losing all of her sturdy composure, pressing her forehead to the damp earth as she begins to sob, gripping to the silken strands of her hair. She allows herself this reprieve. If she does not expel all she has pent up she may implode under sheer weight of it all. But it goes too far. She fights against her panic, and struggles to regulate her breathing. Gulping down whatever air she can force into her lungs, her emotional outburst subsides, her heart rate tempers and her breathing ceases it's erratic tempo. 

The wherewithal to take note of her surroundings eventually breaks forth from the primal state of her being. She unfolds from her temporary cocoon onto her knees and searches the thicket for any clue on how to proceed.

It is dark. The canopy so thick no beams of sunlight can penetrate the cover it offers. The fine mist licks at her exposed skin, cooling and soothing the fire that engulfs her. Why is she so _hot_? 

Gnarled fingers poke over a bush beckoning to her, sowing seeds of confusion before she realises they are the roots of an upturned tree.

She knows she can't run anymore. Her adrenal system is running on fumes and exhaustion won't permit her to move much further. 

She is led by instinct, and perhaps even the Living Force Qui-Gon often speaks of, toward the bush and upturned tree. Crying out in agony as she moves, her whole leg igniting, pain radiating from the gash caused by the clumsiness of the cocky, arrogant _boy_. She cannot sustain her weight and once again drops to the floor. 

Tears bead in the corners of her eyes in frustration and despair. Steeling herself before her emotions overwhelm her once again, she becomes resolute in the promise she makes to herself right then. She will not die. Not here. Not before she can throttle that _di'kutla jetii_ for causing the circumstances she now finds herself fighting against.

She claws at the ground and pulls, dragging herself forward. Her good leg fails to find purchase on the ground and slips constantly, making the short journey obscenely arduous.

Peering carefully through the branches, she can see a hollow dipping into a small pocket encompassed by the tree's roots. It looks just large enough to fit her curled form.

Gathering the energy and courage to push past this last obstacle, she surges forward. Twigs scratch at her fair skin, tangle in her clothing, snagging at her hair and try to impede her progress when suddenly, she emerges on the other side and tumbles into the gaping maw below. It is bigger than she anticipated and she sags in relief that she will not have to contort herself to fit into the sanctuary this space provides.

Curling into a comfortable position, resting her head against the bark wall, she allows the dank coolness of the cavern to sooth her clammy skin. Her eyes droop slowly, exhaustion overtaking her weary body. As she falls toward slumber and her eyes flutter closed, she hopes the Jedi will find her.


End file.
